I don’t dream of tsunamis, or
Giant storm waves crashing against a shore.
I dream of gentle high-tides.
Small, rounded dollops of water
Each time rising a little higher
Until they over-top the beach and find
Their way, easily, now-down-hill. Or
Lapping against windows, letting the light in.
These waters are appealing, inviting
As they say at the shore, “The water’s fine!”
The day, quiet, serene, still.
The light soft, diffused, like a
Clearing sunset after a late Spring rain.
The water has weight, but not the weight
Of immensity…. It’s like the weight of a body,
Sleepy, insinuating…, like sharing a bed
With a lover. The water comes and comes.